A Will is all We Are

Wordsmiths temper their blades
Sharp enough to inflict a deep wound
Yet we are told that only sticks do the tricks to break the bones
Is it this way or that way
I’m waiting for it to be said
But even then, I won’t be listening
Thick skulls prevent seepage and leaking
Manifesting a being unto its own
Molded by none and all, actively consuming and destroying
For those who know, it’s in our deeds
The owners of our actions and desires
Yet what when dissonance inflicts us and occludes our truest feelings
Succumb to a monster of self-inflicted righteousness
To feed it or to let it die
Either event has its limitations and limited upside
And there are those who always dwell around death
But in death is a void
Avoiding this bubble that encapsulates our reflections
This emptiness the ultimate selfishness
Harboring blows that still leave one bloody nightly
Obfuscated by an airy vacuum that sucks the life out of self
Refuge in those that were lost long ago
Beating the drum of wisdom
Marching to one’s own syncopated route step, and telling tales of a universal metronome
A loose grip is an open heart
Allowing life’s blood to pump into the integral body
Building walls and road blocks to accelerate our cancerous growths
Thought as a best friend and worst enemy
Form as a necessity and last gasp of toxicity
Organizing your flawed perception into a cogent entity of mediocrity
When at completion we can say it was good and great, but still long for more
We respect our transistors and resistors which schemed our essence
A will is all we are
And all we can hope to become

Master, Soldiers, and Stars

There are those that sit down
Smile or frown
And write a decent song
Then there are those
Who can’t write a lick of prose
And just play along
But it’s the ones who are moved
That write the best grooves
And leave you singing all day long

If input must be greater than output
Then these masters have selected the best
While these soldiers keep things close to the chest
And the stars, we all follow their quest.
Is it that they are just blessed?
By some spirits they are possessed?
Or have they refined their finesse?

It’s a delicate balance, this trickery of living
Shifting your weight between receiving and giving
A mind that is creating, perceiving, and reliving
In a world that can be cold, deceiving, and unforgiving.
The master wants to give and be well praised
The solider wants to receive and go about things unfazed
But the star operates in a different realm
A world where he is at the helm
While his neighbors go through their strife
The star’s work defines their life
Unable to operate on the simple plane
No patience or receptors for the asinine and mundane
The seriousness and upset are topics of humor
Not allowed to fester and grow to a tumor
Excellence and meaning are the ultimate thrill
Making culture that gives masters and soldiers a chill

And that makes him superhuman
Not reliant on the resonances of Schumann
Making and molding
Hoping and holding
A better world

Chess

Which chess piece do you choose?
The King – in all his majesty?
In all his arrogance
In all his shelter
The Queen – with her omnipresence?
With her long-distance attacks
With her haunting silhouette
The Rook – for its regal construction?
For its nestled corner position
For its place next to its King when castled
The Bishop – by its sloping pattern?
By its passive aggressiveness
By its spiritual supremacy
The Knight – over its chivalrous connotation?
Over its uniqueness
Over its transcendence of space
I choose the pawn.
Escaping into anonymity
A cog in the wheel
The most important
The most forgettable